The Satisfying Taste of Cherry Pie
by Black Aliss
Summary: RonPany:Life was a woman. She left you in the gutter where you started with nothing but a few scars and a trunkload of memories…but you couldn't leave her. She was, so damn beautiful, so intriguing, sooo… indefinitely bitchy


Hello all! I feel incredibly! Incredibly! Incredibly! Happy! I also feel like deleting Ramblings…would you hate me too much if I did? I mean honestly, it sucks. It does. The grammar. The humor. The spelling. It's atrocious. So, comment please oh…and if you say: 'Waves axe threateningly' I'll get the picture.

PS: I'm well aware that my description of the kiss sucks. Sue me.

Nia

Disclaimer: This is not mine. I cannot Rhyme. La dee da dee da…

Ron was incredibly bored. The sun beaming down on the grassy field was hot and irritating, he swore he could feel freckles breaking out on his skin as he sat in the shade of the large white tent.

Reaching up he straightened his Florie and Fortesque baseball hat that had begun to droop in the heat, pulling it low down to the tip of his sun burnt nose.

Inside the stadium cheers of noisy fans echoed. He scowled and stretched out his long sun tanned legs. England had once again been ousted in the first round against Greece (of all places). Greece for heavens sake! Land of olives! Snape Noses! And Windex! Although Ginny had never explained that one to him.

He glanced around, there was no way that the crowd was coming out any time soon, so he might as well head inside where the air was cooler.

He disappeared into the white tent and with a flick of his wand removed the statis spell on the fridge.

Cool air rushed up to meet his sweat stained face, flicking a piece of dark hair out of his eyes he hefted the giant carton of Butterscotch onto the table, wiping off the ice that had formed on the top.

_Sweet Circe_ how had he managed to end up working in an icecream shop! An _Icecream _shop!

Of course the answer was short and predictable. Hermione and Harry. Or rather HarryHermione, you couldn't call it just one of them now.

He'd seen their picture on the front of the American Witch Weekly the previous month, practically draped over eachother, mouths closed over giagantic pieces of wedding cake. The caption read: _Harry Potter Eats Cake!_

Changing Bunny's litter box had been way over do.  
Perfect Harry had always gotten anything he wanted, as if he hadn't known Ron had been in love with Hermione for years.  
To be honest with himself Ron knew he couldn't _not_ have known. It was painfully obvious to anyone, you'd have to be completely deaf and dumb.

He was sweet, sure, sensitive, hell yes, subtle…no not really.

Anything he wanted, he got. Like he hadn't known that Ron had been in love with Hermione for years.

Stabbing the icecream scooper into the Lemon gallon he cheerfully devoured two scoops as if it was Harry's internal organs fried in peanut oil.

His stomach felt heavy, so he flopped down on the cot exhausted. The afternoon wasn't half over and he was already beat. He felt his arms gingerly; carrying huge gallons of ice cream seemed to be a good alternative for being crushed by a falling grand piano.

_Life was a woman_, he decided tiredly, closing his eyes_. She stabbed you in the back. She kicked you when you were down. Then she let you back in with promises of hugs and kisses, and kicked you in the nuts. She left you in the gutter where you started with nothing but a few scars and a trunkload of memories…but you couldn't leave her. She was, so damn beautiful, so intriguing, sooo… indefinitely bitchy._

He was through and done with women, he decided firmly. Yes, he was absolutely through. There was only so much a chap could take.

He could remember her face as clearly as if she was sitting on the cot with him, warm honey colored eyes sparkling with happiness, waves of brown hair framing her heart shaped face.

Fucking hell, had he been blind during school? How could he have failed to notice that those eyes hadn't been looking at him at all… but past him, over his shoulder?

That worry hadn't been for him; it was for her sweet tempered hero, hers and the rest of the worlds.

He groaned and leaned back, his eyes wide as he stared at the ceiling. He tried not to rub his eyes; the color changing spell was volatile and would rub off if he itched them.

It would have been simpler not to come back, after two years in America. The rest of the wizarding world still thought that he was 'acclimatizing' to the post adrenaline rush life.

Only one person knew the truth… Percy. Percy of all people. Ron shook his head at the irony of it. There had always been an order in the Weasley family. Bill and Charlie, Fred and George, Ron and Ginny, and Percy. The odd one out, somehow Ron had never been able to blame Percy for being the git he was.

He'd been left alone, and now Ron was sharing his fate. Two brothers out in the cold... the odd ones out.  
So it had been simpler in the end not to come back. Not as himself. A bottle of black hair dye, an eye coloring spell, and voila you had…

Alex Smith

He liked the name. It was simple. It was plain. It fit.  
When the match ended for the day, the fans would be rushing out, and most would be distracted by the huge floating advertisement for Florie and Fortesque's ice cream.

His work would be cut out for him then, but for now, everything was nice and quie-

'HELLO!' A voice called from outside. He grimaced; another customer and by the sound, _not _tipping one by the sound.

He fastened the tent flap (closed against mosquitoes) and stood up, shielding his eyes against the sun. 'Afternoon,' he said, blinded by the sudden brilliance.

A petite woman with a shoulder length cut and a pair of ray-ban sun glasses balanced on the top of her head stood in front of the stand.

He blanched; that slight pout to the lips, the cynical air of the eyebrows, and the impatient set of the eyes. Pansy Parkinson, girlfriend and tentative fiancée of Draco X. Malfoy the III.

It was then and there that he decided that his day could _not _get any worse. Life being the bitch she was had dealt her last card. And it was a joker.

'Yes Ms.' he said, feigning ignorance and sliding back behind the counter. She looked him critically over, fanning herself with a copy of a magazine. Ron recognizing the hearts that dotted the I's and stiffened. Her hair was falling out slightly from a bun, and her muggle-style spaghetti strap was the traditional Slytherin green.  
She looked at the menu. 'I'll have a small cherry chocolate ice cream with caramel sauce, and a glass of spring water. No ice. Putting fresh water ice in spring water rather defeats the purpose' she said lazily, flipping her glasses down.

'Right,' he mumbled. The cherry chocolate, being one of the most popular flavors, was stored out here.

He removed it quickly, and tried to make small talk. Chit chat. How he loathed that word. 'Enjoying the match?' He asked desperately.

'No,' she said stretching out on one of the lawn chairs. She crossed her legs and looked up at the cornflower blue sky. Despite the sweltering heat and the beads of sweat trickling down her brow, she looked cool and collected.

Ron felt embarrassed; he had grabbed one of Percy's shirts in his hurry to get out this morning. It was rather tight on him and stretched across his muscled body like a second skin.

It was nearly see-through with sweat. Ron groaned mentally; he must stink like a pig. 'Who's winning?'

She looked at him. 'Ireland, I think', she said, unconcernedly 'I don't really follow Quidditch'

'Could you hurry it up a bit, please? My fiancée will be wondering where I am.'

'Oh, right. You're engaged to Fe-Draco Malfoy, aren't you?' he asked politely (though he was pretty sure he'd grimaced at the name). 'Err… I'm afraid we've run out of caramel, it might take a few minutes. You could go back and wait, and come in 10 minutes' He suggested hopefully.

'I'll stay here,' she said decidedly. Ron nearly died; 10 minutes in confined spaces with Pansy Parkinson. Oh god.

'Um... ok' He said.

She nodded. 'When's the wedding?' he asked. Her eyes flashed angrily, and her lips pursed'The wedding, if there is a wedding, will be in December'

'Just it in time for Christmas' he said, trying to grin. 'That'll be nice'

Silence reigned.

'Did I say the wrong thing?' He asked embarrassed. 'I mean…I just assume-'

'Word of advice Mr.?'

'Smith, Alex Smith'

'Don't assume anything about anybody'

_Damn Right_.

There was a thunderous noise as the gates swung open and millions of fans pounded out onto the field for a night of partying and a morning of hangovers.

'Oh. I suppose Draco will be coming along soon' She commented getting out of the chair and strolling closer.

She picked up one of their promotional brochures and flicked through it.

'_Florie and Fortesques: Marriages, Anniversary's, Baby Showers, Birthdays!_' She read aloud, 'Do you cater Funerals?'

'Well we'd have serve liquorice ice-cream'

'Yeuh…forget it. Pity. I was in the mood for a decent funeral'

'You Slytherins are really fucked up aren't you.'

'I wouldn't be talking Gryff' She retorted putting back the leaflet.

'Hey-how did?'

'Y'know looking like a fish doesn't suit you Mr. Smith' She said amused. 'You're simple Gryffness shines through. And it wasn't a compliment'

'Pug' He replied getting into the swing of things. He hit the carmel machine a wack. These things never seemed to work.

'Really. I'd thought that nose job would change it'

'Oh, but I'm sure we wouldn't want you any other way'

'How sweet' She said dryly.

From across the field they could hear voices:

_'Ah Mr. Malfoy, can you introduce us to your friend?'_

_'Ah…Ms. Skeeter- Elise, Elise-this is the formidable Ms. Skeeter. Elise is a distant cousin of mine from Sweden, she doesn't speak English'_

_'I'm not surprised' The reporter muttered under her breath. 'Oh and look there's your- Oh my!'_

She tasted like cherries Ron registered dimly. Sweet and tangy with an undercurrent of bitterness, he explored further and found that the bitterness was really just tangyness and that…She pulled away, and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. His face glowed.

'So long Ronald' She gave him a small wave. 'Somehow---I doubt I'll be needing a caterer'

He stared after her for a moment, vaguely aware that a. it had been one _hell_ of a kiss and b. there were angry voices in the background. C. he needed some cherry icecream immediately and d. that there was a piece of paper pushed into his hand:

_(786) 494-1007_

_p.s: I liked it better red_

A small grin curved across his face. Magazines…wedding cake, what did it all matter?

He went back inside and fixed himself a cone of cherry icecream. There was an impatient mob growing outside, he could here their voices grumbling…but they'd just have to wait.

What's life without a walk on the wild side?


End file.
